


The Weight of Guilt

by timeless_alice



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Perceptor needs therapy basically, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeless_alice/pseuds/timeless_alice
Summary: Perceptor knows Whirl doesn't like him for his involvement with the Wreckers. Perceptor tries to ignore his goading, until one day he can't.





	The Weight of Guilt

The title “Wrecker” had somehow etched itself into every groove of Perceptor’s spark over the years. It clung to him, even as he tried to wash it off with the phantom energon that still stained - would always stain - his plating, in the more desperate moments where the memories refused to leave. The hollow, yawning expanse it left him with made physical with the burning, ever present ache of his spark; injuries and sensations and horrible, horrible guilt that gripped him with their cruel talons.

_Wrecker._

He knew of the glares Whirl gave him, as well as the open contempt and challenges that went unspoken. Ones Perceptor so desperately wanted to rise to. So he could explain to him in painstaking detail every second of the Garrus-9 mission to the finest minutiae, but he knew that he could never do it justice. How could he ever make someone understand the feeling of listening to someone scream in agony and beg for mercy for someone too far away to save. How it lingered in the corners of his mind, until it decided to make itself known again. It was better to just ignore him.

Until one day he couldn’t. Until one day in Swerve’s, when he heard Whirl regale some crew mates with a tale of Wrecker derring-do with his single optic fixed on Perceptor. The look held something that could have been considered contempt. A silent message reminding Perceptor that he had been there when the unit fell apart, as if his involvement had something to do with it, and as if his continued survival was an offense. It prickled along his spinal struts, growing hotter and fiercer until its pounding made a crack in the dam separating his feelings from the rest of the world.

He turned in his seat and said, in a low voice with almost imperceivable glitching at the edges of every word, “I get it, Whirl. You think I should have died on Garrus-9.”

The conversation at the table fell silent. The whole bar fell silent, everyone turning to look at Perceptor. Whirl clicked one clawed hand, eye narrowing, but he made no response. Which, Perceptor thought with a cool detachment to combat the well of emotions that was rising within his chest because he had given them this one doorway, is an answer in and of itself.

“Good.” He planted a hand on the counter, ignoring the concerned look from Swerve and every other ‘bot still giving him their undivided attention. At least a fight wasn’t about to break out. Thank God for small blessings, because he knew if he said much more a fist would be thrown. But instead, he just spoke a single truth, in a voice that hitched high to betray some of the sorrow that curled in his throat, “That makes two of us.”

He rocked to his feet and made his way out of the bar, canceling out the muttered responses to his outburst. As soon as he was out of their line of sight, and out of their hearing range, a tremble settled into his frame and a soft sob tore from his chest. Trying to push away thoughts of the dead, of all the ones he couldn’t save, and all the mistakes he made that only made the situation worse, he made his way to his room. Every step was swift, and he forced himself to keep on the mask of stoicism in the distance, to fool anyone who may be passing by. Not that it mattered too much, as word of his outburst would spread.

Embarrassment at the lack of control burned at this circuits. What was he thinking. He had risen to Whirl’s petty challenges, ones that may well have only existed within his imagination that sought to justify the searing guilt that ate away at him at any given moment. It was lucky for him that no one at the time gave him much more than a passing glance and a polite nod. So he thought, with a flicker of hope that was almost smothered by everything else that had settled into him, that perhaps his trip would be uneventful, and he could be alone just long enough to get himself under control. But that was until what seemed to be, in retrospect, the inevitable: Brainstorm walking down the hall, right in his direction.

Catching his eye, though Perceptor tried to look away as if that would make Brainstorm and his single minded habits focus on something else, Brainstorm closed the distance between then with a few long strides. As Perceptor failed to slow his pace, Brainstorm pivoted on his heel to fall into step beside him, though he moved with a considerable amount of bounce.

“Percy,” he said, in that tone of his that managed to imply some new and vaguely illegal idea for a project into a single word. “I was looking for you in the lab, and-”

“Brainstorm, please,” Perceptor cut him off, with more of an angry snap than his usual guarded exasperation. This caught Brainstorm off guard, with his wings twitching in Perceptor’s peripheral vision in surprise. To him, Perceptor thought with a flash of regret that added to the seething mass at his core, it must have seemed like their relationship had taken a leap backwards. So when he spoke next, he tried to smooth his tone to something approaching cool neutral, “I’d like to be alone.”

He quickened his pace, in the hopes that he would gain some distance between him and Brainstorm, as the other remained rooted to the spot in surprise. But Brainstorm sped up and once more fell into step beside him.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Perceptor didn’t turn too look at him, keeping his eyes locked on the hall before him. “You seem-”

“Agitated? Yes, I know.” His plating bristled, before settling back down. It took an extra amount of concentration to keep from pulling it tight to his frame. He needed to keep some control over himself. “I was in Swerve’s, and Whirl was being. Well. You know how he is.”

Brainstorm didn’t say anything for a long stretch of time, and Perceptor could feel his gaze examining every inch of him. He bristled again, but said nothing more. All the while, he tried to still the tremble that had settled into his hands and refused to disperse; he was sure Brainstorm had either noticed it, or was going to soon.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, with a hint of reluctance buried under ever word. “And after that, I’ll leave you alone.”

Perceptor didn’t reply, leaving the silent agreement linger in the air. The two walked without speaking the rest of the way to Perceptor’s room, though Perceptor was familiar enough with Brainstorm to detect the buzzing desire to say something. On what topic, he couldn’t tell. Brainstorm was still largely a mystery to him.

There were two upsides to having Brainstorm beside him on the walk: one was that people paid even less attention to him, assuming he was off to do something with him, and the other was that it allowed his mind to focus on something other than the memories trying to claw their way out of the depths of his mind. He was sure that the moment he was alone, he would be buried and left to be crushed under things he tried to ignore, all while shaking so hard it was as if his body was trying to flee itself. It had happened before.

They were the worst moments of remembering. The choking moments where he shook too hard and was too lost in himself to contact anyone who would be able to help. And once it all past, and he tucked everything away into their compartments, he would do nothing. Because somewhere in the years of badly handled trauma he had convinced himself that he could handle it on his own.

He pushed down the thoughts, only allowing for one more. One that said that it might not be such a bad idea to have Brainstorm around, for a little while long. Their relationship had taken a turn for the Close Friends, after all. Without consciously intending to, he angled himself so he stood close to Brainstorm as they moved. For his part, he didn’t move away.

“You know.” Brainstorm broke the silence when they reached Perceptor’s door. He kept his tone light, and Percepctor was unable to tell if it was an act to dispel some tension in the air, or if it was sincere. “If you said something in front of Swerve, the whole ship is going to know by tomorrow.”

“I know.” His hands shook. It took him twice as long to open his door.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, and Perceptor glanced at him. Everything about him screamed that he was testing the waters, and that he knew he was entering potentially dangerous territory. But Brainstorm was nothing if not foolhardy.  “Maybe you should tell me, before I find out with him.” In response to a potentially withering, hostile glare, he threw up his hands and added, “For, you know, some semblance of damage control.”

With a long, low sigh, Perceptor gestured with a toss of his head for Brainstorm to enter his room. Brainstorm’s wings twitched in more surprise, but he made no comment as he slipped past. Perceptor closed the door behind them, and with hardly a second thought reached out to turn on the light. He did not look at Brainstorm as he spoke.

“I said that I wish I’d died on Garrus-9.” There. The second admittance, without the heat of Whirl’s glare and all those eyes on him, buried itself in his circuits. Without need to keep his composure for the rest of the crew, Perceptor allowed himself the slightest bit of vulnerability. His spark ached, and he couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional. 

There was no reply, and Perceptor couldn’t bring himself to look up. He reached up to wrap his arms around himself, trying to steady the frantic whir that his cooling fans had picked up to combat the pulsing heat that had taken hold of him. Some part of him, still stuck on Garrus-9 with Overlord looming over his shoulder and hiding behind every corner, worried that if he looked at Brainstorm he would just see an energon spattered specter of someone he had failed to save. So he just watched some indistinct spot on the wall.

“I know he hates me for it,” he continued, because something in him had broken, and he wasn’t sure he could stop. “For living through it, when all the _actual_ wreckers had died.” _Please don’t cry in front of him._ “But I think - everyday I think - that I would give anything for them to still be here. I would trade my life for them in an instant.”

 _It should have been_ me _in the Aequitas chamber._

He hadn’t notice when Brainstorm had appeared at his side. Excusing the continued shaking, something he could not control, he went stock still as arms wrapped around him, and something in his chest hitched. He pressed against the touch, allowing more of his defenses to slip away.

“After your time travel escapades,” he whispered, “I kept thinking what I would do. And I keep going back to Garrus-9.” His voice wobbled, bordering on a barely concealed sob. “God, it’s not _fair_. They  _died_  and I…I lived.”

Brainstorm pulled him tighter, his engine rumbling its off kilter purr. “Sounds like survivor’s guilt.”

Among all the horrible things boiling in him, Perceptor managed to find the space for a mild disbelief that Brainstorm knew what to do in a situation like this.  

“Have you spoken to Rung?”

Speaking with a therapist seemed beyond the realm of possibility. So, he simply replied, “Not really.”

“You should probably talk to someone,” Brainstorm said, with a tone implying he wished for Perceptor to open up to him. 

And suddenly, Perceptor felt the need to push away. To push away from a reminder of his Before and get as far away as he possibly could from the that yawning abyss that threatened to swallow him whole if he dared teeter too close to its edge. As it was, he tangled himself in a mess of limbs and kibble, and only managed to stumble a few steps away, curling in on himself as hands clamped over his mouth to hold back a low, desperate sob.

The anguish and guilt that twisted in his core and ate away at his circuits made itself manifest. His back arched in a now physical pain, everything in him coiling so tightly together to protect against the emotional strife. There was a small, blinking light at the back of his mind that remained clear and struggled to gain a foothold. It clung to the ache in his spark, but even the pinging reminders that he should ease the tension along his frame before a call to Velocity had to be made could make headway in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“I don’t even know how you can stand to be around me,” Perceptor finally forced out. “After I left Kimia, I mean.”

It was then he dared to look up at Brainstorm, who was merely regarding him with a tilt to his head. His eyes were narrowed in thought, and his wings twitched. After a long moment, he said, “When you came back we all noticed you were different. It was hard not to notice it. But it was war, Percy. Not that I– well.” His wings tilted downward, and he gave his head a shake. “Not that I really have much of an idea of what to compare it to, but I’ve known enough people to see how it goes.” His head tilted to the opposite side, and there was what appeared to be a smirk appearing under his mask, going by the new glint in his eyes. The tonal meaning of said smirk was harder to gauge. “I’ve been friends with Chromedome longer than I’ve even  _known_  you.”

That explained some things. It was not that Percy didn’t know this fact already, it was more that certain aspects of it had failed to piece together in his mind’s eye. His interpersonal skills still needed some work.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry.” Every inch of him still ached, and he still burned, but he was able to gather the strength to wipe away the fluid leaking from his eyes. He hummed softly, and spoke in a low whisper. “Thank you, Brainstorm.” For what, he left unsaid. He trusted Brainstorm’s intuition enough to figure he would be able to connect the dots without him saying it outright.

Brainstorm hummed in response, stepping forward to take Perceptor’s still shaking hands in his own. A gentle, familiar touch. One of patience, and friendship, and whatever else it was that the two of them shared. Perceptor leaned forward, letting himself fall against Brainstorm’s chest, and Brainstorm adjusted his grip so he was once again embracing Perceptor.

“I think,” Perceptor said, words muffled against Brainstorm’s plating, “I’m going to give Verity a call.” He paused, then added, “And after that, I think scheduling an appointment with Rung is in order.”

The rattling rumble of Brainstorm’s engine was loud in his ear, but it didn’t drown out his words. “That’s probably a good idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> this got wildly out of hand :( anyway
> 
> im timelessmulder on tumblr


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